


Every Step You Take

by u_andcloud



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Confessions, Dancing, M/M, Post-Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 04:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20557955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/u_andcloud/pseuds/u_andcloud
Summary: It was difficult to break the habit of watching Claude.





	Every Step You Take

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't expect that I was ever going to write 3H fic and then Lorenz came and smacked me upside the head with "a world without you would be ever so dull" and now here I am. Golden Deer route, takes place some time before recapturing the Great Bridge, and some of it overlaps with their A-support a little. I've spent an excessive number of hours agonizing over this so I hope it's enjoyable ~
> 
> Big thank you to my beta readers for their encouragement, and to every Claurenz fanartist for daily refilling my motivation meter with your works <3

It was difficult to break the habit of watching Claude.

And a habit was all it was, Lorenz told himself. Years of careful observation at his father’s bidding had left him with the impulse to follow the Riegan heir with his eyes whenever he entered a room—or more importantly, when he _left _a room, with that crafty smirk tilting his lips as he slipped a mysterious vial into the pocket of his uniform. If anything, there was even more reason to observe him now that he was the leader of the Alliance, although Lorenz had no intention of reporting back to his father any longer. With the outbreak of war, that relationship had grown…strained…although if Lorenz was being honest, it had always been that way, and he had simply forced himself to ignore it.

And at the moment, his father had every opportunity to observe Claude for himself. Lorenz and Claude were here at the Gloucester manor at the Count’s invitation, attending a banquet thrown in celebration of the Countess’ birthday. When Lorenz had first received the letter, he had been tempted to ignore it—but of course, Byleth had caught him before he could tuck it away in his desk, and, with their customary inquisitiveness, had pressed the subject until Lorenz explained the situation. The professor had always been easy to talk to—in five years, that had not changed.

Claude had appeared just as Lorenz was telling Byleth about his departure from the Gloucester estate. 

“I think you should go back,” he said, not bothering to hide the fact that he had been eavesdropping on at least a portion of the conversation. “In fact, this could be just what we need right now.”

Lorenz narrowed his eyes. “Claude, it is rather _rude _to—”

Claude just waved a hand. “A thousand apologies,” he interrupted, with an insincere bow, “but, sorry to say, this isn’t just a personal issue. At least, I’m sure the Count doesn’t see it that way.”

“I hope you do not intend to have me convince my father to turn on the Empire,” Lorenz said. His voice threatened to shake, but he controlled it. “That would be quite impossible, I’m afraid.”

“Not what I had in mind at all,” Claude assured him, clapping him on the shoulder. “No, my plan is a little more…subtle. Sending envoys through Gloucester territory has become difficult lately. At roundtable discussions, the lords aligned with the Empire keep their intentions close to the chest. If we’re going to reunite the Alliance, we need information that they’re not giving. And what better place to get information than at a party? Champagne flowing, tongues loosening—we could learn a lot.”

“You want me to _spy _on my father?”

“It isn’t spying if he sent for you, is it?” Claude pointed out. “Besides, he’s probably trying to do the same thing. And you won’t be alone.”

“I…won’t?”

“Nope. I’ll be going with you.”

At this, both Lorenz and Byleth had turned to him.

“Isn’t that risky?” Byleth asked.

Claude shook his head. “Count Gloucester hasn’t shown any open hostility towards the rest of the Alliance. As far as I can tell, he sided with the Empire to prevent further advances into Leicester territory. He isn’t out for my head—at least, not any more than usual.” Claude winked. “Besides, I have to make sure Lorenz doesn’t spill all our secrets.”

Lorenz drew a breath. “I would _never—”_

“I know you wouldn’t,” Claude said quickly. “But you’re a powerful mage with a Hero’s Relic. We don’t want you falling into the Empire’s hands.”

And so, the two of them had set out for Gloucester territory. The journey was less than a day, and it was a trip Lorenz was well-accustomed to, even if there were more patrols of soldiers than there had ever been during his school days. But the soldiers took one look at Lorenz and let the pair of them pass, and they reached the Gloucester manor without incident just as the sun began to set. Guests were already arriving, and leaving their horses with a valet, Lorenz and Claude joined them.

With a glance around Count Gloucester’s ballroom, one might have forgotten that there was a war on and that the Alliance was more fractured than ever; contented babbling filled the hall over the sounds of a string ensemble warming up in the corner, and the candlelight glinting off the polished chandeliers and dark windows lent the manor a cheerful warmth, as though the celebration of his wife’s birthday was truly the only reason the count had decided to gather the significant people of the Alliance in his home tonight.

Under more careful scrutiny, the illusion fractured. Knots of nobles discussed the movement of troops and goods in hushed tones as they plucked hors d’oeuvres from passing servants’ platters. Lorenz had been subject to no shortage of prying remarks over the course of the evening as people pressed flutes of champagne into his hands and inquired about the state of the monastery—some of them were truly concerned for the missing archbishop, but others could barely conceal the selfish interest in their eyes. Lorenz took polite sips of the wine while fielding questions with verbose but ultimately vague replies, then deposited the mostly-full glass on a passing tray as soon as his interrogator turned their back. It wouldn’t do for his judgement to be compromised in a place like this.

For the moment, he had found sanctuary with a few nobles’ daughters who had greeted him with wide-eyed, ingenuous smiles—so far, it seemed they had been spared involvement in the intrigue swirling around the room, and for Lorenz, this was a welcome respite. He entertained the ladies with light conversation at the edge of the banquet hall, but after a few minutes spent feigning sympathy for the lack of the usual exotic fabrics available at their favorite dressmaker, he found his eyes wandering.

It was always easy to spot Claude. He stood out among the fair-skinned Fódlan nobles even without the heap of colored fabrics that he wore into battle or around the monastery. They had both dressed a little more formally today, leaving cloaks and armor behind and adding to the illusion that wartime was a far-off nightmare instead of a present reality.

The string ensemble had started up with a popular dance tune, and Claude was offering his hand to a woman Lorenz recognized—a daughter of a minor duke with small but strategically located holding.

_Always scheming. _But what had once seemed like a penchant for mischievous meddling in their school days had since revealed itself to be a real skill for shrewd political maneuvering. Claude, outsider though he may have been, seemed right at home among the nobles and landowners who exchanged pleasantries and rumors the way warriors might exchange blows, each trying to guard their interests and learn more than they gave away. Here, they were toe-to-toe with people who might send armies against them if sufficiently provoked, but Claude was navigating the politicking masterfully.

The ladies beside him were still chattering irritably about the effect trade interruptions had had on their wardrobes, so Lorenz absentmindedly sipped at his champagne and watched as more dancers entered the floor.

Claude drew his gaze again, smiling easily at his partner as he twirled her around the room. It was an expression Lorenz recognized well by now—a crooked, dazzling grin that nonetheless left his eyes dark. More often than not, Lorenz guessed that people were too preoccupied by his looks to notice.

Lorenz, in all his years of observation, had always been careful to avoid such distractions, and to watch Claude’s eyes for any sign of ill intent, instead—Claude was an archer, after all, so the logic followed that his eyes would betray his target. But that was another habit that had proven difficult to shake, and when a turn of the waltz brought Claude back into his field of view, he was somewhat startled to find the Alliance leader looking back at him. Catching Lorenz’s eyes from across the room, he cast him a playful wink, the shadow over his brow lifting for just a moment.

The dance carried him off again before Lorenz could even look away, which he did an instant later with a quiet _hmph, _shielding the dance floor from view with the curtain of his hair.

“Is something wrong?” one of the ladies asked. Lorenz summoned a smile to his lips and shook his head.

“Not at all, my lady.” With a smile, he tried his utmost to grant the two of them his full attention, but he felt hard-pressed to muster even a semblance of interest in their conversation. When one of the women paused for breath, he seized the opportunity.

“Ladies, you must excuse me,” he interrupted smoothly. “But I have some matters to attend to. Enjoy your evening.” With a bow, he left them alone and retreated through the crowds, leaving his empty champagne flute with a servant as he went. He didn’t remember drinking the whole thing, but the night’s verbal parrying was thirsty work, so he wasn’t surprised.

He deflected further conversation as he walked, hurrying as inconspicuously as he could to the far side of the room, where a balcony overlooked the manor’s front entrance. The doors were closed against the evening chill, but Lorenz felt desperate for a breath of air—he had never felt so stifled in his own home.

But when he was only a dozen steps from the door, a hand fell on his shoulder.

Bracing himself for yet another barrage of questions, even Lorenz was surprised by how relieved he felt when he turned around and realized the hand belonged to Claude.

“You know,” Claude began conversationally, “a man might get the wrong idea, if you spend the whole evening staring at him across a ballroom.”

Lorenz felt his cheeks color and willed the blush to disappear. “I was not _staring,” _he huffed. “I was simply marveling—”

Claude’s eyes widened, but there was still a mischievous angle to his lips. _“Marveling? _Maybe I have the right idea after all.”

_“Marveling _at how my former classmate, who made a habit of _poisoning_ people before battles, has somehow transformed himself into a proper noble,” Lorenz finished, scowling.

Claude grinned and spread his arms. “What can I say? I learned from the best.”

“Oh…?”

Claude met his eyes. “You know, for someone who’s always watching me, you’ve been shockingly oblivious to the opposite.”

Lorenz’s brow creased. “The oppo—you’ve been watching _me?”_

“Of course. Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, model noble. You’re practically a walking textbook on how to behave in high society.”

“I am inclined to take that as a compliment,” Lorenz replied. “Although I fear you did not mean it that way.”

Claude shrugged, still smiling. “Take it however you like. I can’t deny that it’s been useful training, even if you didn’t know you were doing it.”

“So I take it you have had a productive evening?” Lorenz asked, changing the subject.

“I _have, _as a matter of fact,” Claude said, with a satisfied grin. “Here, I’ll tell you all about it.”

When Claude stepped closer, Lorenz expected to be ushered to a quieter corner of the hall to be briefed on Claude’s findings, but to his extreme surprise, Claude grasped one of his hands, hooked his other hand around Lorenz’s waist, and pulled him out into the middle of the hall, among the swaying pairs of dancers.

“Cl—” Lorenz squawked a protest, but Claude had already launched into a commentary on the various guests that they passed, describing the advantages of various alliances and the players they had to keep a close eye on. Lorenz found his footing quickly enough—he had been trained for this almost since he learned to walk, after all—but it took him another moment to tune in to what Claude was saying.

And even then, he found the whispered discussion difficult to focus on. Claude wasn’t a _terrible_ dancer, but Lorenz was used to leading, and it took a special kind of focus to force himself to follow his partner’s movements instead of guiding the dance himself. He adjusted the hand on Claude’s shoulder—Claude was holding him a little closer than strictly necessary, in order to be heard more clearly over the sound of the music—and fell into the steps of the dance.

“—and Lord Othin’s stables apparently have some of the best horses you can find in the Alliance, but he’s trying to remain neutral. _I _think—”

Claude’s gloved hand was warm under Lorenz’s palm. Lorenz tried not to think about it, but Claude’s grip was somewhat firmer than that of the ladies Lorenz had danced with in the past, and this detail was strangely distracting. This was a hand more accustomed to bracing a bow than to dancing, and Lorenz knew the glove hid telltale callouses.

“—Lady Therèse is on our side, but she won’t admit it. Her husband—”

Lorenz wondered faintly where Claude had learned to dance. What he lacked in skill, he made up for with that inherent grace of his, an ease of movement that translated well enough from battlefield to ballroom. The steps weren’t always right, and the way they drifted around the dance floor—better to see the possible allies and enemies that Claude was describing—wasn’t always proper, but there was something almost charming about it, and Lorenz found himself smiling as Claude entirely broke rhythm for a moment to tug him towards the middle of the hall.

A faint prickle of self-consciousness nagged at Lorenz’s thoughts, but the floor was full of dancers now, and no one was paying the two of them any mind. Once he allowed himself to relax, it occurred to Lorenz that this was the most he had enjoyed himself all evening, despite the fact that Claude’s intel painted their predicament at the monastery in an increasingly dire light. Even with Claude’s optimistic slant, it was clear they had a lot of work to do.

But when Claude leaned close to his ear to murmur a particularly sensitive bit of overheard information, the shiver that ran down Lorenz’s spine had nothing to do with the looming threat of battle.

Five years ago, it had been easy enough to brush aside the strange squirming in his chest that seemed to be triggered by Claude’s presence—even when he passed the point of being able to chalk his feelings up to mere rivalry, the fact remained that the Gloucester line required an heir, and Lorenz was the Crest-bearing son expected to provide one. No matter what attraction he felt, no matter how hollow his romantic airs sometimes sounded to his own ears, he had no choice but to seek out a profitable union with a respectable noble woman. He had seen the sense in this and had never questioned it, not for a long time.

But now, with Fódlan throw into disarray, with Claude condemning the old order and all the prejudices, bloodlines, and religious zeal it was built on, those tentative feelings, which he thought were long buried, had begun to worm their way to the surface again. For the most part, he kept them at bay—they were at war, after all, and there was little time for such frivolity—but with Claude’s fingers twined through his, and with the scrape of the bristles on Claude’s jaw against Lorenz’s cheek as he pulled away, Lorenz found that old and too-familiar stirring in his chest much more difficult to ignore.

“Lorenz? Are you listening?” Claude’s question broke into his reverie, and if Lorenz had been a less skilled dancer, he might have muddled up his footwork.

“Of course,” Lorenz lied, but Claude just smiled knowingly.

“Distracted by my exquisite dancing, right?” he teased, sending Lorenz into a clumsy twirl—clearly, he was used to partners who were shorter than he was.

“Hardly,” Lorenz scoffed. “I should give you some advice while we’re here, before you embarrass yourself.”

Swiftly, he reversed their positions, so he was the one guiding Claude around the hall. To his surprise, Claude did not resume his commentary, instead remaining uncharacteristically silent. When Lorenz chanced a look down, he found Claude already watching him.

“Not bad,” he remarked. “Maybe we should have sent _you _to the White Heron Cup.”

“I do believe that is exactly what I recommended,” Lorenz pointed out. Claude just chuckled.

The leader of the Leicester Alliance wasn’t used to following, either, and he was slightly less graceful than Lorenz had been as he adjusted to Lorenz’s guidance. Since they were here, Lorenz decided he might as well set a proper example. He brought all his many lessons to mind—posture, hand placement, foot patterns—and settled Claude in his arms, to _really _show him how a true noble danced.

Still, Claude said nothing, and Lorenz caught his eye.

“Was there anything else?” he prompted.

“Hm? Oh, no. I still have some people to talk to, but we can take a break for now.”

A second song was just beginning, and it seemed inappropriate not to see it through. But Claude’s silence was beginning to set Lorenz on edge. Whenever he looked down, Claude was scanning the room, as though he was planning his next move. Lorenz couldn’t help but feel faintly disappointed that his efforts to impress were apparently going unnoticed.

_This is not why we are here, _he reminded himself firmly. He marshalled his feelings under control and, catching sight of Margrave Edmund, opened his mouth to say something about the state of affairs in the east—but Claude spoke first, glancing up at him with mild interest.

“Didn’t I ask you to dance at the ball five years ago?” he asked.

Lorenz frowned. “You asked _everyone _to dance.”

“Well, yeah. You turned me down, though. Not many people did.” His lips had curved into a slight pout, but his eyes were bright.

“Did I?” Lorenz asked airily, as though he didn’t recall the moment with perfect clarity.

“You were kind of mean about it too, said your time would be better spent with the noble ladies—”

Lorenz’s brow creased. “Claude, I—”

Claude looked up, his smile returning. “Relax, Lorenz. I’m just teasing.”

“…ah.”

Claude’s hand shifted slightly on his shoulder. “Seems like I missed out, though. Maybe those ladies were luckier than I thought.”

Thinking back on the ill-fated romantic pursuits of his school days, Lorenz’s expression soured. “I do not know that the ladies would agree with you.”

Claude tilted his head. “Maybe not,” he conceded. “But if they saw you now, maybe they would change their minds.”

Unsure of what to make of this statement, and more than a little flustered by it, Lorenz chose this moment to guide Claude into a spin. But when they came together again, Claude was closer than he had been before, their hips bumping together. Claude’s eyes, though clear and green as fresh dew on grass, were unreadable.

“Claude,” Lorenz said slowly. “As the leader of House Riegan, surely there has been some pressure on you to find a suitable match and—”

“It’s been mentioned,” Claude interrupted. A hint of sourness in his tone gave Lorenz an idea of how those conversations had gone. “But in my opinion, House Riegan’s legacy isn’t important. As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter which houses have a voice at the roundtable, so long as the Alliance is in good hands.”

“Do not let my father hear you say that,” Lorenz murmured.

“Ha. No, I certainly won’t,” Claude agreed. “But what about you? Any luck in the search for a wife?” He narrowed his eyes. “Was that supposed to be your subtle hint that you would rather be dancing with someone else?”

“N—” Lorenz started to answer, then realized quite suddenly that a negative response would come far too close to an admission he was certainly not prepared to make. “I am giving you a lesson, if you recall,” he said instead.

“Right, right. Does this mean you’ve consented to be my official instructor for all things noble?”

“While I _would _be more than capable of the task, I’m afraid I must decline. I have other obligations which take precedence over running a finishing school for fully grown men.”

Claude chuckled. “Well, if this is my only chance to learn from the best, I should probably be paying closer attention. Alright, Teach, tell me how I’m doing.”

With that, Claude took the lead again, pressing one hand to Lorenz’s back and pulling him close. After a few measures of the dance, he looked up at Lorenz through his eyelashes, a smile lifting the corners of his lips.

“Any better?”

Lorenz sniffed. “Somewhat. Admittedly, you dance better when you are not using it as a cover for a tactical meeting.”

“Such high praise!”

Lorenz allowed Claude the lead for a while, but when he heard the telltale signs of the waltz winding around to its conclusion, he swapped their positions again. When Lorenz guided him into a turn, Claude took the movement in stride—he was learning to follow a little better now—but Lorenz wasn’t finished; as Claude returned to his arms, Lorenz held his hand firmly, adjusted his hold on Claude’s back, and dropped him into a low dip just as the musicians played their final notes.

It was perhaps a lower dip than was _entirely _proper for the setting, but the expression on Claude’s face was more than worth any breach of propriety. He stared up at Lorenz with pure astonishment written across his features, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, his hand gripping Lorenz’s more tightly than ever. Lorenz’s hair spilled from behind his shoulder and brushed the edge of Claude’s cheek, and for a moment, with the rest of the dancers blocked from view, it felt as though they were alone in the ballroom.

“And _that _is how it’s done,” Lorenz said at last, pulling Claude upright and releasing him.

“Well, well,” Claude said. He brushed his hair back with one hand, hiding his face for a moment, and when he looked back at Lorenz, he was wearing his usual grin. “Seems I still have a lot to learn.”

_Must be a trick of the candlelight, _Lorenz told himself, noting what looked like a faint blush high on Claude’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and glanced around, relieved to see that his somewhat unconventional finale had gone unnoticed by the rest of the dancers, who were far too occupied with their own partners as another song began.

“Perhaps another time,” he replied, tucking his hair back behind his ear. “For now…”

Claude nodded in agreement. “Yeah, break’s over. Let’s meet up later.”

With that, the two of them split off to find more useful partners for the rest of the evening. Almost immediately, Lorenz regretted the decision; reflecting on his discussion with Claude, a moment’s thought was enough to assemble a long list of women on whom it might be beneficial to make a favorable impression. Once upon a time, Lorenz might have been delighted to demonstrate to so many noble women the innumerable merits of the Gloucester heir, but now the very prospect seemed exhausting. 

But, ever the gentleman, he successfully hid his true emotions from his face as he offered his hand to yet another noble’s daughter, and drew on his not inconsiderable (if he did say so himself) aristocratic charm to make casual conversation as they swayed around the room. He met Claude’s eyes a couple times, but too briefly for Claude to even send another conspiratorial wink.

Many dances and many partners later, the musicians finally played their final tune. Prying himself away from his last partner as politely as possible, Lorenz scanned the room—only to catch sight of his father doing the same.

He had danced with his mother earlier and—despite her numerous unsubtle pleas that he return home for good—it had been nice to see her, as she seemed content to leave politics aside for the sake of having a few minutes with her son. His father, he knew, would be a different story. They had shared a few words earlier in the evening (since he could hardly arrive home without at least greeting his parents) but even that fleeting conversation had proven Claude correct—his father had not simply invited him for personal reasons. And even though he and Claude were here, in part, to determine the Count’s true intentions in the war, Lorenz was reluctant to approach his father directly. While his mother’s entreaties betrayed nothing but an innocent desire to have her son close by in dangerous times, anything his father had to say would be far less innocuous.

He knew he would not be able to avoid a confrontation forever—in fact, he was dreading tomorrow’s breakfast for just that reason—but at the moment, Lorenz wanted nothing more than to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. So, slouching slightly and shielding himself from view behind a few servants on their way to the kitchens, he crossed the hall as stealthily as he could, then ducked behind a curtain to the narrow corridor concealed behind it. Closing his eyes, he slumped against the stone wall as the babble of voices outside faded somewhat, muffled by the thick fabric.

He was exhausted. Never before had such social functions left him so drained—they had always been political, of course, but he supposed that never before had there been so much at stake. Squeezing the bridge of his nose against the beginnings of a headache, Lorenz allowed himself a moment of rest before forcing his thoughts back to the matter at hand. Claude would want a report before the evening’s end.

Just as he started to heave himself off the wall to go in search of Claude, the curtain moved. Lorenz froze, bracing himself to explain why he was lurking in a little-used servants’ corridor, but the figure that slipped into the hallway was familiar.

Claude flinched slightly when he turned and noticed that he wasn’t alone, but his expression quickly relaxed into a smile.

“Oh! There you are,” he said. “Got a little nervous when I lost sight of you—had to remind myself that you disappearing from a ballroom isn’t exactly the same as you disappearing from the battlefield.”

Lorenz frowned a little at this unexpected concern as Claude heaved a sigh and relaxed against the wall beside him. His shoulder bumped Lorenz’s arm. “I _feel _like I just got off the battlefield, though,” he added.

“Finally, something we can agree on,” Lorenz said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Claude mused, looking at him sideways. “I think you and I see eye-to-eye more often than not, these days.”

Turning, Lorenz eyed him archly, tilting his chin to emphasize the difference in their heights. “Eye-to-eye…?”

Claude rolled his eyes and nudged him with his shoulder. “Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, making jokes about someone’s height—I really _must _be a bad influence on you.”

Lorenz chuckled, but his smile faded quickly. “My father would certainly say so.”

Claude’s expression sobered. “Did you speak to him?”

“Briefly. I could gather as much as I needed to know from my mother. Father’s views remain as blinkered as ever. We certainly cannot expect any assistance from him.”

“Well, I wasn’t counting on it,” Claude sighed. “I’m sorry, Lorenz. I know this must be difficult for you.”

Lorenz scoffed. “Difficult? Hardly. The Alliance is in shambles thanks to his unwillingness to cooperate. Merchants are struggling. Villages find themselves under Imperial rule thanks to the whims of their lords. Perhaps my father had no choice at first, but to carry on for five years under the Empire’s thumb is nothing but cowardice. If _I _were in charge_—_”

Despite his best efforts, his voice shook. He believed every word he spoke, but that did not change the fact that he had grown up respecting his father and heeding his advice. It was easy enough to critique Count Gloucester, but he still dreaded the day that he might have to take up arms against him, no matter how distant they had become. And his _mother…_

Lorenz paused and collected himself, blinking hard. “Excuse me. I meant to say, if I were in charge…”

His hand, resting against the wall, had tightened into a fist. He didn’t even notice until Claude placed his own hand on top of his. Lorenz almost flinched at the unexpected contact, turning sharply to see Claude looking back at him.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. “I know how happy you were when he gave you Thyrsus. And I saw you with your mother tonight. I don’t envy the position you’re in.”

Lorenz wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted to protest, to explain that the greater good of Fódlan overrode any obligation or affection between himself and his family, but he couldn’t find the words.

“That said…” Claude added, turning to gaze at the wall across the corridor, “I’m glad you came back. Even if it was just for the professor. I wasn’t eager to face you as an enemy, but even more than that—it’s reassuring to have you as an ally.”

Lorenz stared at him, trying and failing to ignore the warmth of Claude’s hand covering his own. “W-well, I could hardly leave _you _to manage a revolt against the Empire on your own, could I? With the state of the Alliance—”

Claude let out an unexpected laugh. “And that’s just it, isn’t it? My ambitions go beyond the Alliance, beyond _Fódlan. _But like I said earlier—I still want to leave the Alliance in good hands. And that’s where you come in.”

“You keep talking as though you are set on leaving,” Lorenz said, reluctantly pulling his hand away and turning so that he could face Claude properly. “But where exactly do you intend to _go?”_

“Well, there’s a big wide world outside of Fódlan,” Claude mused. “But I’m not going too far. If I were to, say, start shaking things up in Almyra, could I count on Duke Gloucester’s support from the other side of the border…?”

Lorenz sucked in a breath. _“Duke?”_

Claude shrugged. “Well, maybe it won’t be ‘duke’…who knows how the politics will work out after the war. But like I said—finding a wife isn’t exactly a priority for me. Someone is going to have to take over responsibilities for the Alliance territories. And if it’s a friendly face, then all the better for me.”

“You want to open up Fódlan’s Throat,” Lorenz stated, unable to keep a note of awe from his voice.

“Among other things,” Claude confirmed. He turned and held out a hand. “So? What do you say?”

“What do I _say? _Claude, we’re still at war! Depending on how the next battle goes, there may not even be an Alliance left to make treaties with.”

“What can I say? I’m an optimist.” Claude left his hand where it was, outstretched and open.

With a resigned sigh, Lorenz reached out and took it. “It seems that despite my best efforts, I continue to underestimate you.”

Claude laughed, clasping his hand tightly. “Well, that’s the idea, isn’t it?” He tapped his temple with one finger. “All part of my scheme.”

“Indeed…” Lorenz looked at their joined hands, eyes catching on Claude’s signet ring, emblazoned with the Riegan crest. His father wore a similar ring, and Lorenz had been chasing it all his life. “You would really give up everything you have achieved here, just to start again in Almyra…” He shook his head. “Truly, I do not think I will ever understand you.”

“Well, think of it this way—to me, Fódlan is just a part of a bigger picture. I think you would do the same, if you were in my position.”

“Perhaps…” Lorenz paused thoughtfully. “You are aware, though, that even after the war, it will take some time before the Alliance—or Fódlan as a whole—is in any position to be making treaties, yes? It is not just a matter of winning. The rebuilding alone—” He broke off, catching sight of Claude’s grin out of the corner of his eye. “What is it?”

Claude shook his head. “I’m just…” His lips quirked up into a wider smile, like he was remembering an old joke. “…marveling.”

“Marveling,” Lorenz repeated skeptically.

“Yeah, you know—just how you used to think I was some good-for-nothing interloper with a dastardly plot to bring the Alliance to ruin, I used to think _you _were a snobbish, power-hungry fox who valued the prestige of his house above all else.” Claude scratched his head. “But it turns out you’re one of the most selfless and devoted allies a leader could ask for. That’s something to marvel at, I think.”

Lorenz ducked his head, hoping the shadows of the corridor would help hide how the praise had affected him. “Claude, I…”

“And a great dancer, on top of that!” Claude added. “It’s a wonder some Alliance noblewoman hasn’t snapped you up yet.”

“Yes, well, with the war—”

“For the past five years, people have been making strategic marriages left and right,” Claude countered. His tone turned pensive. “You know, you dodged the subject earlier, too—it used to be that you couldn’t go five minutes without talking about your _noble obligations.”_

“I—well, as I was _saying,_ with the war, I did not think it would be proper to pursue ladies so…”

“Relentlessly?” Claude suggested. Lorenz scowled.

“I have other priorities,” he finished instead.

“I see,” Claude replied, amusement still glinting in his eyes. “Even so, you’re telling me that Count Gloucester hasn’t presented you with a single potential match that has met your standards?”

“He has made _suggestions, _but while I take his opinion into account, I would like to decide for myself—”

“The Alliance is full of beautiful, capable women, but none of them were suitable? Really?”

Claude’s smile was playful, but his eyes were strangely probing. Lorenz felt pinned in place. Even if Claude’s tone said he was only teasing again, that look in his eyes suggested otherwise.

It should have been easy enough for Lorenz to pluck a noblewoman from the dozens he had courted over the years, just to satisfy the question and move on, but at the moment, every single one of their names escaped him. Claude’s intent gaze was crowding them all out, demanding honesty, and all Lorenz could think about was the weight of Claude in his arms when they danced, the warmth of their clasped hands, the sensation of Claude’s breath against his ear…

The silence was stretching too long. Lorenz struggled to find words to fill it. “There have been…that is, they have all had their _merits_, but…”

Claude’s implacable gaze was unrelenting, almost _challenging_. “But…?” he prompted.

_“But…” _Lorenz drew a breath, still searching for some noncommittal answer, then paused. Since when had he allowed Claude to intimidate him so? He had every right to point out that the answer to the question was none of Claude’s business, or…

Lorenz let out his breath in a rush and met Claude’s eyes, disregarding his racing heartbeat the same way he did before casting a difficult spell.

“Well. There was one person my father advised that I keep my eye on, a long time ago,” he said evenly, “but I am afraid there are numerous obstacles to that union. It would never work.” He gave a rueful shake of his head.

Claude’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh? Such as…?”

“For one…” Lorenz pursed his lips and looked away. “…their dancing leaves something to be desired.”

“That’s all? Nothing your expert tutelage couldn’t fix, I’m sure.”

Lorenz frowned and focused even more intently on the mortar between two bricks in the walls—even then, he was too aware of Claude taking a half-step closer.

“And…there is the matter of their…ambitions. When the war ends—”

Claude’s hand came to rest on Lorenz’s arm with a gentle pressure. “The war isn’t over yet.”

Lorenz remained very still. “Even more reason why it would be imprudent to pursue—”

“Lorenz.”

He heard the smile in Claude’s voice before he saw it, turning his head incrementally to meet Claude’s eyes, bright with amusement and some other emotion that Lorenz was scared to acknowledge. It had always been easiest to see Claude as a mere rival; the closer he came to admitting that he felt anything else, the further he diverged from the careful order that had defined his life thus far, the order that Claude had been slowly dismantling since his arrival in the Alliance all those years ago.

Claude was close enough now that he had to tip his chin up to look Lorenz in the eyes.

“I hate to say it,” he began, “but if the leader of the Alliance isn’t enough for you, you _might_ be doomed to eternal bachelordom.”

Lorenz drew back slightly and narrowed his eyes. “One more thing—this person exhibits an alarming lack of humility.”

Claude raised an eyebrow. “Look who’s talking! I’m just saying, you could do worse.”

“I…you are not wrong.”

“But…I understand.” Claude’s hand dropped away from his arm, and the place where it had been suddenly felt very cold. “If your obligation to House Gloucester is that important to you, far be it from me to get in your way.”

_Obligation to House Gloucester. _Those were familiar words for Lorenz to hear in these halls, in the home where he had grown up shaped by the ideals of nobility and honor that his father espoused. He prided himself on being different from the count, but if he was allowing those obligations to govern him so thoroughly, could he claim that he was truly his own man? The world was changing, and Lorenz was eager to see it change—but in tumultuous times, it was easy to cling to the familiar, even when something better was within reach.

Claude was leaning against the wall again, his expression mild but inscrutable. He had always been difficult to read—it had frustrated Lorenz to no end five years ago. “Now,” he was saying, “we should probably pool our information while it’s fresh in our minds. I think I’ll leave for Derdriu tonight to give a report to my retainer there, since I’m not sure I can trust an envoy to get there safely.”

Lorenz, lost in his own thoughts, looked up sharply. “Wait—tonight? Surely my parents offered you a room—”

“Oh, they did, don’t worry. But the sooner I can pass this along, the better. Since I’m already partway there, it doesn’t make sense for me to return to the monastery first.”

His logic was unassailable, but Lorenz felt he couldn’t accept it. “But traveling alone, this late at night—”

Claude’s slight smirk left his eyes dark. “Worried about me? Very chivalrous of you, but I can handle myself. Now, when I talked to Lady—”

“Claude.” The name fell from Lorenz’s lips almost without him intending it, softly, but with a gravity that prompted Claude to look up. His expression betrayed nothing more than quiet attentiveness, and, swallowing his nerves, Lorenz cleared his throat.

He felt a sudden urgency in the moment, as though his thoughts had finally coalesced into one coherent thread, and he knew with certainty that he would lose his hold on it if Claude started talking about war tactics and weaknesses at the Empire’s border again. He could imagine, all too clearly, meeting back at the monastery and carrying on as though the entire evening had not happened. The thought triggered an uncomfortable ache in his chest.

“Earlier, I spoke of…obstacles,” he began slowly. “Marrying well, succeeding my father, and providing an heir so that House Gloucester can continue to protect the people of our territories in the years to come…these are the responsibilities I have as an Alliance noble. The well-being of the Alliance’s people is of paramount importance to me; that is why, when my father asked me to observe you at the Officers Academy, I thought it a prudent course of action. It seemed that no one else could see the risk you posed to the Alliance, excepting—”

“Lorenz?”

Reluctantly, Lorenz broke off, a little miffed to be interrupted when he had just gotten started. “Yes…?”

Claude stretched and clasped his hands behind his head, leaning back against the wall and fixing Lorenz with an earnest stare. “I mentioned before that I’ve been watching you too, right? I _know _what’s important to you. And as for the past—it’s past. I don’t need an apology, either. Honestly, right now, I’m tired, I’ve spent the entire evening talking in circles with the lords and ladies of the Alliance, and I feel like the only thing I _don’t _know is whether you’re about to explain, in the most eloquent and roundabout way possible, that you’re committed to the noble tragedy of your existence, _or_…if you’re just going to kiss me.”

For a full five seconds, Lorenz could only blink at him, distantly aware that he was gaping in a distinctly impolite fashion. Claude, lounging against the stone, gave a little shrug of his shoulders.

“Not that it wasn’t engaging—you’re a great orator, really taking after your father. But it’s been a long day, and Derdriu isn’t getting any closer, so…”

Lorenz exhaled the breath he had been holding in a huff.

“By the Goddess,” he murmured, to no one in particular, “By now I should be able to predict the absurdities that come out of your mouth, and yet…”

“Well _that _would be no fun—” Claude started to say, but Lorenz chose that moment to take his advice, and leaned in to press their lips together.

It was a clumsy kiss, but Lorenz felt strangely weightless as he pulled Claude closer. Whatever he had been about to say had already evaporated from his mind, taking with it the burden of over two decades of accumulated expectations that he had almost forgotten he was carrying. As Claude reached for his hand, twining their fingers loosely together, Lorenz tried to remember the last time he had felt so free and came up blank.

Claude was smiling under his lips, and when they parted, that smile only grew, lighting up his face in a way Lorenz had rarely seen before_, _especially in recent days.

“Sorry for interrupting your speech,” Claude said, although he didn’t sound especially apologetic. “You weren’t actually going to end with noble tragedy, were you?”

“Ah…no,” Lorenz confessed. “But how did _you _know?”

A hint of mischief crept into Claude’s expression. “Easy. I found your book of poetry a while back.”

Lorenz’s eyes widened as horror seeped into his chest, tainting the warmth that had started to take root there. “You _didn’t,” _he gasped.

“I particularly liked the ones where you talked about my eyes. Do you think you could recite one for me, one of these days?”

“_Absolutely _not,” Lorenz grumbled, and kissed him again before he could say another word—and then kissed him harder, until Claude stopped laughing against his lips and started kissing him back in earnest, tangling one hand in his hair while the other rested on Lorenz’s waist. In the back of his mind, Lorenz considered that they couldn’t stay here in this dim corridor forever, but for now, the thought of someone finding them like this felt vastly inconsequential. Who might see them, who might talk, how it might reflect on Lorenz, on his father, or on his house—he found he did not care in the slightest.

He had no idea how much time passed before they parted again, but the faint sounds from the ballroom had gone entirely silent, and only pale moonlight seeped around the curtain.

“Do you still intend to leave tonight?” Lorenz asked, a little breathlessly.

“Well…” Claude tilted his head in exaggerated thoughtfulness. “I suppose it only sets me back a few hours, if I leave first thing in the morning instead.”

Lorenz smoothed a lock of Claude’s hair back from his forehead. “Which was, of course, your plan all along.”

Claude winked. “Ahaha, you’ll never know. Now, I’m sure this big old manor has somewhere a little more private where we can, ah…” His hand in Lorenz’s hair drifted along his neck to the edge of his collar. “…discuss our findings?”

Very much doubting that either Byleth or Claude’s retainer would be very pleased with the quality of the reports they would receive the next day, Lorenz agreed and led the way.

**Author's Note:**

> this is so long because I couldn't get the two of them to shut up
> 
> catch me on twitter @u_andcloud aka the Lorenz Hellman Gloucester Appreciation Zone

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Every step you take](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23360230) by [LumehaPodfics (Lumeha)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeha/pseuds/LumehaPodfics)


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